by Em Petrova
The thunder of hooves didn’t erase his tension as usual, though. He couldn’t un-hear all that crap Andrew had laid on the table. And thoughts of Malou were even stronger in his mind now.
I fucked things up with her. It’s done. He didn’t know her that well, but she was probably avoiding him. No wonder, if she read star magazines.
* * * * *
Malou blinked at the four generous breasts bobbling on each side of West Calhoun. The triangles of their bikini tops barely covered their nipples.
She turned away from the magazine at the checkout, but on her left were two more. A newspaper with West at a rodeo event, muscles bulging as his image was captured taking down a calf. Trouble in the Calhoun Family? the headline read.
And the cover below that sported a picture of West, his head bowed, hat covering his face and the headline that he was arrested on drug charges.
Now that one she didn’t believe. West was a lot of things—a hard ass, a womanizer and a sweet talker, at the very least—but he wasn’t a druggie.
With disgust, she turned away from the magazines and waited her turn in line. The basket over her arm was getting heavy, as it was filled with fruit for her daily smoothies. She chopped the fruit into bits and froze them in various combinations based on nutrients.
Summer Sunrise was an energizing blast of orange, pineapple and kale. Strawberries, blueberries and spinach was her antioxidant combo. Two shakes a day had her feeling amazing and glowing.
Just like I did after that night with West.
The line moved forward, and Malou struggled to keep her mind off the photos of the man haunting her. She had enough images stored in her brain already—his biceps as he moved over her. The way his abs tightened when he pushed his hips against hers.
Her hair prickled on her arms. She shouldn’t have let that cowboy get to her. But those dark eyes and crooked smile had stripped away her resolve.
She’d forgotten all about her decision not to sleep with cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Forgotten that she couldn’t be charmed by a pair of fitted Wranglers and sexy chaps. That she turned down anyone who hit on her.
Well, almost everyone. There had been a few weak moments with a couple guys… but West was her favorite mistake.
One crazy night with him might have lasted a blink or a year, she wasn’t sure. She’d been trying to figure that out for weeks. With West, she’d plunged into a universe of roped muscles and intense stares. A private world where only they existed.
Voices came from behind. “That West Calhoun’s a male slut. I saw the headline about his sex tape in Cabo. Did you?”
Malou’s heart slammed her chest wall, and she pivoted slowly to look at the woman speaking. The pretty blonde had one of the magazines open, looking at the spread of West.
Her friend huddled closer to read over her shoulder. “Wish I was blonde. Seems to be the only type he dates.”
The blonde flipped her hair. “I wouldn’t turn him out of my bed. I thought only guys in suits were my type before the Rope ‘n Ride show. I always liked West the most.”
“You’re only saying that because Ryder’s married.”
“Nope. There’s something about West—a spirit. Like he’d much deeper than the man you see on TV or in this magazine.” With a dreamy sigh, she closed the magazine and placed it back in the wire holder.
“Are you ready, miss?” The clerk’s voice jarred Malou from her eavesdropping. She hurriedly set the basket on the checkout belt, her mind a million miles away.
The cashier started putting her groceries into plastic bags, but Malou stopped her. She withdrew a cloth bag and asked her to use it instead. When she had finished, Malou slipped the long straps over her shoulder and walked outside.
She’d always felt a little out of place in Oklahoma City. But her sister had moved here two years before to be with an asshole boyfriend. Their relationship had lasted until the time Maris had unpacked. And Malou had been glad that she was there to pick up the pieces.
She strolled toward her apartment. She wanted to stop in the herb store, but she had to unload her heavy bag first. The sidewalk was busy with foot traffic. Saturdays in the city meant people were running errands or just having lazy lunches with friends.
Malou didn’t feel part of the city, but she appreciated the energy. And it was a lot easier to get herbs here than on the reservation where she and Maris had grown up. In the hot, dry Arizona climate, the Hopis couldn’t grow all of what she needed. The shop down the street from her apartment had everything she loved to experiment with and more.
Her profession might be clinical and scientific, but her roots were in holistic healing. So often the human body was just lacking in balance. Malou liked figuring out what it needed and fixing it without a lot of unnatural chemicals.
Her tiny walk-up apartment wasn’t far, which was good because she was already starting to sweat from carrying the heavy bag. Looking around, she saw women in lighter clothing than she was wearing. She’d thrown on the big cardigan sweater thinking it was cooler outside than it actually was.
The knit sweater hung down to her knees, though her flowing patterned pants were light enough. Her hair was hot and heavy, but she’d never give into her sister’s suggestion to cut off her dreads.
They were part of her. And West had loved them.
The man popped back into her mind like a prairie dog popped up on the landscape. She saw a clear image of his tanned ass when he climbed out of bed. She didn’t need to watch a sex tape to remind her what it looked like—that ass was emblazoned on her memory.
Of course he’d look hot as hell in a video. He was more gorgeous in person than on screen. Now thousands of people had seen him in the buff, thanks to that leak in the media.
If the tape even exists.
What if it was a hoax? Just like the drug allegations. It was entirely possible that the sex tape was just that—a story.
* * * * *
“Son of a bitch. He does have a sex tape from Cabo.” Malou gazed at her phone screen, mouth agape. Her thumb hovered over the play button, but could she really bring herself to watch it? It had taken her a week to get to the point where she could Google it.
It had become apparent that seeing him with the two blondes wouldn’t help her erase the man from her thoughts. She needed to purge him from her system on her own.
With a sigh, she put away her phone and looked around the makeshift rodeo clinic. Was there anything else she needed to do to get things ready?
Familiar scents reached her. Leather and horse and food truck chili dogs. Funny how the smells reached her even inside the arena.
Moving around the clinic, she made sure everything was prepared. She was accustomed to the flimsy curtains partitioning off one victim of a bucking animal from another. The supplies were on hand—a lot of splints and ace bandages. Along with some vials of life-saving drugs that may have saved her brother.
After Hototo had been trampled, he’d gotten medical attention, but it hadn’t been enough. He’d died from his extensive head injuries, and she’d always wondered what could have been done to save him. If she’d been the doctor on hand…
She threaded her fingers into her hair for a moment, tugging until the memories eased. Hototo’s death had spurred her into looking at the conditions behind the scenes in rodeos. Often the smaller venues just had volunteer medics on call, and she was determined that everyone’s brother had the care they needed. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t being paid a normal doctor’s wages.
Many of her people didn’t understand why she wasn’t there on the rez, helping them. But she felt an obligation to work the rodeos.
Quickly, her reputation had gotten her hired at bigger rodeo venues, and that was why she was here in San Antonio at one of the season openers.
The Calhouns only come to the big events.
She pivoted toward the entrance. Would she see West today? Not that she wanted to see him injured, and at least tie-down roping wasn’t
as dangerous as riding bulls, but working with any animal was unpredictable.
A boot appeared in her line of sight, followed by a long, denim-clad leg. She followed it upward just as the owner popped into the doorway. He wore a leather vest covered in the patches of his sponsors, and he was clutching his right shoulder.
“Jay,” she said with surprise, moving forward. “I thought you were out with that shoulder.”
“I was. Had rotator cuff surgery.” His warm brown hair was ruffled as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Where was his hat? A cowboy didn’t often show up anywhere without his hat.
“Then what are you doing here? You should be at home healing.”
“Don’t have much of a home to go to. The road’s my home. The rodeo people are my family.”
She gave him a sad smile. In the Hopi tribe, everyone was family, and she couldn’t imagine being on her own, aimless, without any ties.
West’s good at tying things up.
She shook herself and waved Jay behind one of the curtains. “Please tell me you aren’t riding broncs with this fresh shoulder surgery.”
He hopped onto a table and smiled at her so broadly that she knew he couldn’t be in that much pain. “Nope—I’m just helping out. Coaching some rookies in exchange for a little of their earnings. Just until I get the doc to clear me. Wait—you’re a doc. Can you clear me?”
She slapped him on the good shoulder. “Not a chance. Let’s get your shirt off so I can check for swelling.”
Undressing a cowboy like Jay was like unwrapping a present. Every hint of warm, tanned skin would make a woman melt. Especially when he turned those dark, snapping eyes on her. During one of their dates, he’d shared that Native American and Hispanic blood ran through his veins as well. Something they had in common.
She’d enjoyed their time together, and while he’d proved he could kiss as well as he rode broncs, she hadn’t slept with him.
No, West had been her one and only rodeo man.
She eased the shirt off Jay’s shoulders, and he grimaced as he moved his arm for her. “You shouldn’t even be here, Jay. You’re using your arm when it should be rested.”
“Doc said I need to keep it in motion.”
She eyed him, feeling a small ripple of awareness that came with being around a man who found her attractive. Plus, he was muscled and smelled good.
As soon as she got his shoulder bared, she stopped feeling the effects of female hormones and her inner doctor took over. As she examined him, she noted his range of movement. Moderately impeded. He had a long way to go before he could seat a bronc that was trying to knock him on his ass.
Stepping back, she gave him her best doctor’s stare.
“Uh oh,” he said in that Louisiana drawl that would make a woman’s panties turn to ash.
“You’ve been lifting, haven’t you?”
His brows shot up. “You can tell that?”
“No, but you just told me. Now what are we going to do about the pain and swelling?”
“Ice?” His answer was given with helpful fervor.
She hid a laugh. “Yes, ice and rest. But I have some oils too. A massage could help.”
“Now you’re talkin’.”
“Lie down on your stomach and let me get my oils.”
She kept her own supplies in a small plastic toolbox, and she brought it out now. After plucking out a few, she began to mix some in her hands.
“What are you using?” he asked, his gaze heavy on her.
Liquid heat slid into her lower belly. Would he ask her out again? And if so, would she give him a chance? Her body needed a release, and before her encounter with West, she’d hardly paid attention to those kinds of cravings. She’d been too busy on the reservation and then in college and med school.
“A little of this, a little of that.” Using two fingers, she mixed a small amount of each of three oils in her palm. Then she drizzled it over his shoulder.
When she began to massage him in slow circles, his rough groan sent her mind spinning to West once again.
Why couldn’t she shake that man?
Because it’s unfinished.
No closure, no “thanks for the fun time, see you around.” She’d sneaked from his bed before he’d awakened, and that had been a mistake. Because her mind couldn’t close a door on West until she said a proper farewell.
Jay relaxed, and she continued to work the oils into his muscles. One acted as an anti-inflammatory, and one was a good liniment. It heated the connective tissues and would help blood flow, which in turn would carry away some of the swelling and promote healing.
He should have one of these rubdowns at least once a day. Twice, if he wanted a faster recovery, and she knew he did.
She wasn’t sure she wanted him coming to her twice a day for this intimate massage, though. Jay was cute, but…
He’s no West Calhoun.
Jeez. She had to kick aside that man for good, finish her business, even if it was only mentally.
Jay shifted to look at her. She stopped with her hands still on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Will you go out with me again, Malou? I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”
“I…” Her instinct was to back away, but maybe a date with Jay would cancel West right out of her mind. She smiled at him. “Okay. That would be nice.”
“I’ll come by and pick you up after the rodeo.” He sat up and swung his legs down. His thigh brushed her hip as he did so. “The shoulder’s much looser. Whatever that stuff is that smells like oranges, it really helped.”
The third oil. “It’s for energizing a patient’s immune system so you heal faster.”
“I think what helped was your magic hands. Thank you, Doc.”
She rubbed the remaining oil on her palms together. “Pick me up an hour after the rodeo ends. I’ll need a little time to clean up.”
His boots hit the floor and he grabbed his shirt with a sexy grin. “You’re worth the wait. See you then.”
* * * * *
As soon as West entered the honkytonk, he felt the room turn and stare. Damn the cameraman for refusing the twenty bucks West had offered him to stay in the truck while he grabbed a drink.
West ignored the guy tailing him and pushed past the crowd gathered at the doorway. Rodeo guys called out or gave West a nod of recognition. Some Buckle Bunnies were already zeroing in on his coordinates, and he ducked his head to avoid eye contact.
His hat swooped low, but he was still able to navigate the room until he bellied up to the bar. The wood against him felt like a lifesaver on a sinking ship. He pushed out a sigh and dipped his head to the bartender. “Whiskey.”
The older gentleman slinging drinks knew what brand West wanted—he’d been in here often enough over the past few years. He wordlessly poured.
He wrapped his fingers around the glass and felt someone grab his arm. He looked down to see a pixie of a woman in the tiniest shorts and tank top imaginable. Her hair was pulled off her face into a ponytail, and from his vantage point, he had a clear line of view to her navel from the neckline of her top.
Her bellybutton was pierced.
“If it isn’t a real-life celebrity here among us,” she drawled.
He brought the whiskey to his lips. “Not a celebrity.”
Several titters of laughter sounded around him, and he realized he was surrounded like prey on a savannah. The lionesses were on the hunt.
He knocked back the whiskey in one gulp, feeling it burn the whole way to his gut. He’d need to skip the second round if he wanted to get out of this bar without another sex tape scandal. Not that he couldn’t control himself, but drinking hadn’t helped him that night in Vegas when he’d made the snap decision to take the blondes to Cabo.
A hand came down on his shoulder, and he swung around to see his brother, Lane. He held two beers, and he flicked his head to the side to indicate West should follow him.
Grateful for the save, he
pulled free of the woman’s grasp and pushed his way through the crowd to a table where their friend Asher Franklin sat. As West dropped to a seat, he eyed the bottle of tequila set before Asher.
“Wynonna has your kids?”
“The nanny does. And I’m not going back to collect them until I’ve found the worm at the bottom of this bottle.” Asher’s face was drawn as he poured himself another tipple.
Asher’s wife had left him to raise two little girls years ago, and Asher, the other half of Buck’s team roping pair, had become closer than ever to the Calhouns. Asher and his kids spent a lot of time with the family, even when they weren’t rodeoing.
As the man nursed his tequila, West took the beer Lane slid his way. Under his breath, he said, “He okay?”
Lane gave a shake of his head. “Got turned down for a loan.”
West eyed their friend who might as well be another of his brothers. “Damn. Loan for what?”
“Needs a new horse trailer. But he’s a single dad barely scraping up earnings ropin’ cattle. No bank is gonna loan him the money.”
“Shit.” West sipped his beer, feeling the coolness glaze over the burning from the whiskey in his gut. Around him the honkytonk was bursting at the seams. If the fire marshal raided the joint, they’d probably be shut down for the night. Country music wailed from speakers on every wall, and the dance floor was so crowded that he couldn’t see more than a few people around the edges.
Dammit, the cameraman was orbiting their table. Lane followed West’s line of sight and ducked his head. Neither of them wanted the nosy bastards around tonight.
“Wish I’d placed higher than third in my event,” West said. “I’d give Asher my earnings. I just broke even with travel expenses and my entry fee.”
Lane nodded.
“You placed first. Why don’t you contribute?”
“Already tried,” Lane said, lowering his beer again. “He won’t take it.”
West leaned back in his chair. “Don’t blame him. A man’s gotta have some pride.”
“I can hear you, assholes.” When Asher looked up, his eyes were already glassy. If he continued to drink his way to the bottom of the bottle, he’d fit that old rhyme—one tequila, two tequila, three tequila more. Five tequila, six tequila, seven tequila morgue.
